


Remix

by cimorene



Category: Pop Music RPF
Genre: F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimorene/pseuds/cimorene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP at Missy Elliot's birthday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remix

**Author's Note:**

> First published in 2002.

Missy called the day their remix was released to radio to invite her down for a birthday bash.

Nelly squinted out the window of her grandmother"s house. It felt weird to hold a cell phone to her ear in front of the window facing the duck pond where she"d played in the mud ten years before.

"Most of my peeps are in LA already, you know, so I"ll come get you at the airport like last time..."

"Is this an invitation or an order?" Nelly said.

Missy laughed the kind of laugh that gets mixed into songs, and Nelly idly mixed it into one in her head. Almost religious, in an oversexed, pagan kind of way. "Baby, that was a request for your presence."

***

Not that there wasn"t a limo driver, but she wasn"t expecting to see Missy too, in a black leather motorcycle jacket tailored practically like a corset, with a deep V of mahogany cleavage showing between the sparkling silver lines of the open zipper. She smiled, leaned to the side to shoulder her bag. Missy grinned behind tinted glasses and grabbed her in a clean-smelling hug, free of perfume.

"Guest number one," announced the hostess, leaning back in the corner of the limo and folding her glasses on the seat. she was wearing partial black leather gloves too, and she kept fiddling with a little buckle at the base of her thumb. she shifted and the jacket gapped more. There was another shirt under it--a silk camisole, it looked like.

"You mean the most important, right?" said Nelly, "and not the first to arrive?" Their song came on the radio. _"Me, me, me"_ sang Nelly's voice. She remembered standing beside Missy in the editing booth, recording that.

Missy cocked her head and grinned and sang along, mocking the high voice: "Me, me, me."

***

The hours for dancing long over for the sane, Missy took up a couch - glittering eye makeup, gold jewelry, and striped track pants with bare feet and a goblet dangling from her hand. She was some kind of African odalisque, Nelly mused, or a statue, even--it would be terrible to lose that three-dimensional sense and all you could see looking at her, the wicked indulgence of ripe curves and black skin glowing gold across graceful collarbones and under her lazy eyes.

The dancing was over, but everyone glistened with sweat. Nelly was curled up in a chair nursing rum and coke and the smell she identified as Missy's sweat. She could smell hers too, a little. Missy's birthday, though, her party. Her house, her alcohol. It was only right. Nelly watched a droplet trickle between the heavy dark breasts and took another drink to wet her lips.

There was a touch on the back of her hand--Missy's pinky finger stretched out from the hand wrapped around the goblet, and otherwise she hadn't moved. "Nell."

Nelly looked up, followed the chin-jerk and the gaze to the dance floor.

"Is that JustinTimberlake and Janet mothafuckin Jackson?"

Nelly squinted. "No shit."

Missy nodded and let her head fall back in the corner of the couch again. It was the point in the conversation where you drain your drink, so Nelly did. Missy was still but the gentle swells of her body moving with her breaths. Her hand with its goblet remained outstretched, her long, manicured pinky nail describing little crescents on the back of Nelly's hand.

Nelly finally asked four songs later--it was "You're So Vain," the original, thrumming through the whole place. Janet was standing on a chair belting it with her eyes shut. It wouldn't have surprised Nelly to see Carly Simon somewhere around --"Hey. Miss'."

"Hmm?" was the reply, almost a purr. Her eyes were open, though only barely, her chin propped on her free hand, but the side of her hand stretched over the arm of the couch was still touching the side of Nelly's.

"You gonna finish your drink?"

A black eyebrow lifted. There was maybe one swallow in the glass. Missy still didn't move, and Nelly moved her hand for the first time in ten minutes/ten hours/forever, sending tingles rushing through her arm. She plucked the goblet from Missy's fingertips, lifted it to her lips, drained it and put it on the table behind her. The alcohol had gone lukewarm--Burgundy.

The eyebrow didn't drop again until Nelly had settled back into place and their hands were touching again, hovering in the air between couch and chair like some kind of goddamned metaphor that she wasn't going to write a song about. Like God and Adam in the fucking Sistine Chapel. Like a rope connecting this chair to that leather couch arrayed like a frame around Missy.

"Oh," Missy said softly after a moment, then she sighed and shifted on the couch, twisting until her breasts must have been crushed against the cushion, chin on the arm. All four fingernails dragged lightly over Nelly's wrist and the back of her hand, and then the dark fingers closed around her wrist like a bracelet. "Nell, why didn"t you say?"

Nelly was watching their hands.

***

The whole house was as dark as the party and only Missy's bedroom was darker. The sheets were smooth cotton and the bed wasn't made and they smelled like Missy, although not as much so as the hollow of her throat, or the sweat when Nelly buried her face between the ripe breasts and peeled off the tank top. She dragged the tip of her tongue up the cleft and traced those sharp collarbones with her lips just barely open. Without her clothes--which she soon was without--she was the lightest thing in the room, and Missy wouldn't let her under the sheets--

"Oh, you're not hiding from me," she said throatily, and held Nelly down with her hands soft on Nelly's hips and nuzzled her diaphragm and under her left breast, up to the crease of her armpit. then she opened her mouth and retraced the path meticulously, so hot, until Nelly squirmed under the onslaught and gasped and Missy laughed again.

"Let me go?" Nelly traced the tendon on the outside of the strong wrist, up the swell of forearm to Missy's elbow, leaned forward to put a kiss in the crease there.

For answer, just wet breath on her belly button, a warm tongue drawing a crescent under it--Nelly held her breath and let her hands wander where they would, and Missy laughed again, and put one hand on each of Nelly's thighs. Her thumb was drawing the same maddening little shapes she'd used to brand Nelly's hand earlier in the night, and her mouth was--

\--hotter. Her skin wasn't like silk, it only looked it--but it was very soft in the back of her neck and the small of her back, and it was slick with sweat other places.

"Again," Nelly muttered, squirming out from underneath with a gasp, and Missy raised her head, confused. Moonlight arrowed through the window and struck the whites of her eyes and Nelly leaned close to kiss her, kneeling on dirty cotton sheets with her hand braced between her spread knees, with her breasts soft and sensitive, hot and tingling. Her other hand spanned the soft, gently yielding swell of Missy's left hip, and she couldn't tear her eyes from it.

"Mmmmh," said Missy into her mouth, licked lazily at Nelly"s teeth and opened her mouth more. "Again?"

"It could be," said Nelly confusedly. Their hands had brushed in the studio when they mixed the song. She pressed close until she could feel the generous curves of breasts crushed, nestled against her chest, so soft, and her arm was pressed between them, her hand buried in sharp coarse curls between the round dark thighs. It was hard to find a good way to sit--Missy"s hand on the small of her back helped and she unfolded one leg and hooked it over Missy's hip. It lay there like a white band practically glowing in the dark, and kept them close together when Missy clutched blindly for her wrist, twisting and arching, her mouth falling open.

"Oh, oh," she whispered. Another word might have been "Nelly" or it might have been "baby." Nelly stroked soothingly the length of a smooth flank and moved closer for another kiss. She pushed Missy back down on the bed and pulled the sheet up over them, tangling their legs incidentally as she gasped and arched her back.

This time Missy didn't say anything about the sheet. She caught Nelly's face carefully in one hand, in the V of her thumb and forefinger, and kissed her deliberately. There was hardly room for both their tongues in the space of both their mouths, or anyway, they didn't quite know what to do with them. "Honey, it always can be--"

She felt a soothing stroke continue down her spine, over the curves of her ass, fingers dipping into the crease of her thigh, making her lift her leg higher around Missy's hips. Nelly's fingernails dug into the flesh of Missy"s waist, and later, when she was kissing and shaking all over, twining her fingers in the short spikes of Missy's coarse hair, she realized that she'd not thought, the whole day, beyond the next instant or so, let alone beyond--this couch, this chair--this bed. and now certainly wasn"t the time to start. Somehow they fit in one space for sleep with no intrusive knees and elbows (thank god, exhausted as they were), and lying draped half over the lush curves she'd seen on the couch was surprisingly similar to lying in her own chair, with just her hand touching the tip of Missy's finger, sleepy and lazy and oddly companionably calm.


End file.
